


She Lies Awake and Dreaming of Home

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even now – here at the end – there is still life to be lived. And while this life may not be what she'd expected or hoped for, the comfort the realization brings is just as powerful now as it had been that very first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is; what has affectionately come to be known as 'The Laura-Fic-o'-Doom'. I began writing this story back in February, shortly after 'A Disquiet Follows My Soul' first aired. It was meant to be a little piece exploring Laura's motivations in the wake of the disappointment of Earth. It's possible the concept has gotten a little bit bigger since then *g*.
> 
> The title for this story is taken from the song 'Candido and América' written by Robbie Schaefer and performed by [](http://www.efohio.com>Eddie From Ohio), the most folkin' excellent folk-rock-blues-gospel band you've never heard of.
> 
> This story would never have made it half as far as it did without the constant help and support (and occasional not-so-subtle prod) of my wonderful friend and beta nnaylime. Thanks also goes to my long-time(!) friend and beta-for-all-fandoms caz963 who found time despite the craziness of RL to give this the going over it deserved. And finally, a shout-out to icedteainthebag for her late-inning help and assistance.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has helped to make the BSG fandom such a fun and welcoming place to play around in. All good things may indeed come to an end, but that doesn't make the journey any less wonderful or worthwhile.

**Prologue**

 

Laura first realized it here, thanks to nothing more significant than a shared smile and an uneasy handshake.

There's something about this place that has always felt like home to her. Even in those terrible early days when the grief was still fresh, the terror still new and Bill had been more a stranger than a colleague or friend, his quarters had offered Laura an unexpected comfort that no other place in the fleet could.

At first, she'd been thankful for the little, practical things it had afforded her; a comfortable couch, a private bathroom, a library. But its most useful contribution – at least in the beginning – had been the valuable personal insights offered her by everything contained within those walls. Contrary to her expectations, Laura had found Bill's quarters to be both cozy and comfortable, the clutter of personal effects and associated memories held within unwittingly providing her with a visual narrative of the man behind the Colonial uniform. Without that knowledge, Laura is certain she wouldn't have survived working with him for much more than a week.

But she _did_ survive – they all did – and as the weeks passed, and the initial urgency began to fade into a grim and familiar routine, Laura began to appreciate the time she spent in his quarters for a wholly different reason. Mired in the daily drudgery of trying to keep the fleet safe, alive and intact, it had been all too easy to lose sight of the reasons behind the difficult choices she'd had to make. There has been a greater purpose behind her every compromise, driving every decision and directive; and here, tucked away from the stark utilitarianism and impersonality that seemed to characterize almost every other ship in the fleet, she was afforded the opportunity to remember just what that purpose was.

The survival of humanity as a people was important, yes; and she'd do everything in her power – lay down her life as the scriptures demanded if need be – to ensure it. But beyond basic survival there was something even more important to consider – something that couldn't be quantified on a whiteboard and which was therefore all the more difficult to protect.

Here, bathed in a warm, buttery lamplight that reminded her of childhood evenings spent reading in her father's study, was all the incentive she'd ever need: books cluttering his shelves; hand-knotted rugs beneath her feet; pictures and paintings lining his walls; trinkets and keepsakes covering every available flat surface of the richly stained walnut furniture. The Colonial way of life encapsulated; a silent testimony to everything they'd already lost and everything they still stood to lose if she failed in her charge. She'd needed that reminder, that reassurance – more and more as time went on and the everyday business of life and death continued to ebb and flow around her – and Bill had offered her access to it without hesitation or question.

And though she'd had every reason to, she'd never resented him for having escaped the destruction of the Colonies with more than most of the others in the fleet. Instead, his incredible fortune had given her a reason to hope that, in spite of everything they had been through, they could and would find a way to go on; that humanity would survive.

Perhaps that's why this space has come to be one of the few places – and in recent weeks the _only_ place – she feels genuinely safe. After New Caprica, she'd found herself coming here with increasing frequency, unable to deny that her motivations had been borne – at least in part – from a desire for Bill's company. But she'd also come here in search of other comforts, as an escape from the fear, self-doubt and the unrelenting responsibility that had come to weigh on her more and more heavily with each passing day.

Long before she came to share his meals, his closet, and his bed, Bill's quarters had become _her_ home, too. Here, she had found a place where she was accepted – welcomed – without obligation or expectation. Not even her own quarters on Colonial One had been able to afford her so complete a refuge from the ever-increasing demands of the outside world. That she had been lucky enough to find such a place, and that its owner had been kind enough to share it with her, is something for which she will always be grateful.

Beneath her, his rack's well-worn mattress dips slightly; with effort Laura turns her head and opens her eyes to find Bill gazing down on her with a mixture of affection and concern. "S'it late?" she asks as she struggles to pull herself to a sitting position.

For a moment Bill looks as if he's going to try and dissuade her from moving, but then seems to think better of it as he gently takes hold of her arm and reaches to place an extra pillow behind her head. "How are you feeling?" he inquires softly as he helps her find a comfortable position.

"Better," she lies, even though she knows he'll be able to see right through it. The sicker she's gotten, the less she's been able to hide from him; and Laura can't help but worry about what that's going to mean somewhere not all that far down the road.

Bill gives her a sad, knowing smile before leaning down to brush his lips across her temple. "I'll order us something to eat."

Laura nods and watches as he rises and crosses the room to his desk, wondering at how such simple gestures can bring her such solace. It won't be long until he returns to her side, filling the time until their food arrives with idle stories about _Galactica_ 's day. They'll share the meal at his table, Bill punctuating every other bite with a word or two of encouragement; for his sake she'll demure and eat what little she's able to stomach. And once the dishes have been cleared and the lights in the cabin extinguished, together they'll make their way back to his rack to find whatever respite they can within the circle of each other's arms.

And as she listens to the weary rumble of Bill's voice relaying their dinner order over the comm, Laura thinks back on that first visit to his quarters what feels like a lifetime ago and is comforted by the realization that, though everything else has changed, this place and the parable it tells her has not.

Even now – here, at the end – there is still life to be lived. And while this life may not be what she'd expected or hoped for, the reassurance that knowledge brings is just as powerful now as it had been that very first time.

*~*~*~*


	2. Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today the sun will rise in the East, and I will raise a voice to the canyon. As the campfire dies, my América lies asleep, and dreaming of home. She is asleep, and dreaming of home.

*~*~*~*

"I've given the coordinates provided by Vice President Zarek to Colonel Tigh and asked him to ready a strike team for immediate departure. If we're lucky, the _Hitei Kan_ will be back with the fleet in the next couple hours."

Laura can feel his gaze on her like a physical weight, and it is too much. Rising from her seat on the couch, she deliberately makes her way across the room, until she's standing close enough to feel the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of her sweatshirt.

"Laura, are you even listening?"

Cocking her head, she meets his eyes and offers him a wicked smile. "No, I'm not. And frankly Bill, neither are you," she asserts a moment before she leans in and captures his lips with her own.

*~*~*~*

"No."

Laura tightens her grip on the edge of her desk and tries not to let her ever-increasing frustration get the better of her. "Commander—"

"What makes you think I would agree to give that…woman unrestricted access to my crew and my ship?"

"I thought that you had as much of an interest in repairing the fleet's perception of the military as I did. Was I mistaken?"

Unrepentant, Bill continues to glower at her from across the desk. "There has to be another way."

"Maybe so, but D'Anna Biers is the one who leaked that tape in the first place; giving her the story is going to be the best and fastest way to neutralize its impact on public opinion."

"I don't trust her."

Laura fights the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm not asking you to. What I _am_ asking is that you trust _me_." If possible, his expression darkens further and this time Laura can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes her. Placing her palms against the desktop, she leans forward and meets his hostile gaze calmly. "It has to start here, Bill. Now. With us."

Much to her relief, Bill has the good grace to look contrite. "I meant what I said on Kobol, Laura."

"So did I. But if we're going to bring this fleet back together, you and I are going to have to set the example."

Bill's expression is inscrutable as he carefully considers her words. "Unlimited access?"

"Within reason, of course. I'll trust you to be the judge of when and where to draw the line."

Bill regards her appraisingly for a moment before finally nodding his agreement and turning to leave. She can tell from the tense set of his shoulders that he still isn't wholly comfortable with the idea, and though Laura remains confident that this course of action is both necessary and right, she can't help feeling like something of a hypocrite for having forced it on him so precipitously.

President Adar had once told her that politics was first and foremost about striking a balance – the _right_ balance – between competing factions; that in finding and holding that middle ground, a deal could be struck that would satisfy everyone – even the most vocal of dissenters. And while Richard may have lost sight of that particular philosophy during the latter years of his administration, she'd seen the strategy work in his favor often enough to have long ago added it to her own political arsenal. Little had she known just how useful that knowledge would ultimately turn out to be.

"Commander?" Bill stops and turns to her, his expression curious. "I understand that Ms. Biers is currently on board the _Inchon Velle_ ; perhaps you'd like to extend her the courtesy of a private marine escort to _Colonial One_ – for her own safety, of course."

"Of course," he replies with a gravity that is immediately belied by the slightest lift of his eyebrows and the almost-grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If I may?" he asks, gesturing toward the phone on her desk.

"By all means." Laura offers him a gracious smile which Bill acknowledges with a nod before stepping forward and picking up the receiver.

 _Politics and war; perhaps not so different after all_ , she thinks wryly, watching as he issues the order to what she suspects must be a positively gleeful Colonel Tigh on the other end of the line.

*~*~*~*

Bill is slowly kissing his way down the exposed column of her throat, sending delicious shivers of pleasure along the length of her spine, when Laura feels him hesitate, his lips hovering frustratingly close as his breath teases her over-sensitized skin. She's unable to suppress a huff of frustration when he draws back and pointedly meets her eyes.

"Laura—" he begins, and his expression is entirely too serious for her liking; sensibility and caution are the absolute last things she wants or needs from him right now.

"No more talking," she commands with a sharp, dismissive shake of her head before greedily pulling his mouth to hers.

*~*~*~*

"Madame President."

Much like everything else she's seen and felt these past two days the words, when they reach her ears, seem muted and fuzzy, like something out of a dream – or a nightmare. And so she sets them aside, adding them to an ever-growing list of things she plans to revisit just as soon as she's certain she is truly awake.

"Madame President," Billy repeats, this time with greater insistence, "We really should be getting you back to sick bay."

On the other side of the glass, the Cylon continues to pace, her hands smoothing absentminded circles over the swell of her abdomen. Laura watches her every movement, trying to make sense of this inexplicable connection she feels – and biologically now has – with this creature and its unborn child. "I'd like to speak with the Admiral before I go." She doesn't bother to ask if he's still here; she's all too aware of his watchful eyes on her as he hovers a respectful distance away, just outside the hatch.

"Of course."

The familiar sound of Bill's heavy footsteps announces his approach less than a minute later. "Billy," she says without turning around, "please go on ahead and let Doctor Cottle know I'm on my way." Sensing his hesitation, Laura finally drags her attention away from Sharon long enough to meet Billy's concerned gaze. "I'm sure Admiral Adama will be more than happy to ensure my safe return once we're finished here."

Billy's eyes flick upward – no doubt to meet Bill's – and she can feel the tension build between them, her self-appointed protectors, and by turns her salvation and damnation – as they engage in a silent debate to which she has no interest in being a party. She'd rather conserve what little of her rapidly dwindling energy still remains for the argument she knows is coming just as soon as Bill glares poor, valiant Billy into submission. And so she returns her attention to the cell and the lives held within, just beyond her reach, and waits for the telltale sound of Billy's retreating footsteps.

It's not long before Laura is rewarded for her patience, though she chooses to wait until she hears the heavy metallic clang of the hatch closing before beginning to speak. "Two days, and I'm still not sure how I should be feeling about all of this."

Bill moves forward to stand beside her. "You're alive," he replies simply, as if somehow that is explanation enough for the turmoil and uncertainty he's unwittingly caused her.

"Yes, I am. And will be for years to come, it seems. Thanks to Doctor Baltar and…" Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Laura completes the thought with a sharp nod in the Cylon's direction.

"Given the circumstances, Doctor Baltar felt and I agreed that—"

Laura cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "It doesn't matter at this point; what's done is done." Turning, she lifts her gaze to his and immediately regrets the frustration she can see lurking beneath the surface of his practiced, military façade. "I _am_ grateful, Admiral. Truly."

"Forgive me for saying so, Madame President," he replies, shifting closer to rest a hand on the back of her wheelchair, "but you don't seem it."

She's not sure whether it's his proximity or the fact that he's called her bluff, but Laura is suddenly and uncomfortably self-conscious. Reflexively she drops her eyes to study her hands as they twist restlessly in her lap. "It's…a lot to take in."

"You need to give yourself time to recover."

His gentle, indulgent tone – something for which she's been grateful these past few weeks – now only serves to irritate her. "Despite the rather unexpected change in my circumstances, time continues to be a luxury I cannot afford; the actions of Royan Jahee and his group have made that much perfectly clear."

"Laura—"

"Admiral," she interjects firmly, "if I'm going to be able to restore the fleet's confidence in my ability to do my job, I'm going to have to start now and I'll need to do so on my own two feet."

"Then by all means Madame President, go right ahead," he retorts harshly, sweeping his arm toward the door in a gesture that might have been gentlemanly if not for the ugly expression on his face.

The challenge is an empty one and both of them know it; miracle cure or not, she's still too weak to manage the labyrinth of _Galactica_ 's halls on her own. Even so, it takes all of her willpower not to take hold of the wheelchair's armrests and try to prove him wrong. However unavoidable it may have been, she doesn't like that her recent infirmity and weakness have been put on display for all – Bill in particular – to see. That he is able to not only recognize her discomfort but now seems quite willing to exploit it only serves to make the situation even more untenable.

Laura wants to feel like herself again, to _be_ herself again. But now there are Cylon cells running through her bloodstream, and as much as she may wish it she will never again be the woman – the person, the _human_ – she once was.

There's no going back.

"Take me to sickbay," she whispers hoarsely. "Please."

Beside her, she feels Bill hesitate before he crouches down on his haunches to look her in the eye. "The fleet has always believed in you Laura." As he speaks, she feels the warm weight of his hand settle atop hers. And even though she knows her acceptance of his intimate gesture contradicts everything she's just said, Laura isn't quite ready to deny herself the simple comfort it offers. Soon though; soon she'll have the strength to pull away, and to put all of this behind her.

She offers Bill a halfhearted smile and is relieved when he seems to accept the feeble gesture with a brisk nod of his head. As he rises and takes hold of the chair's handles, she casts a final parting glance through the tinted glass to the cell beyond, and is surprised to see the Cylon inexplicably staring back at her. Laura can't help but envy the contented self-assurance she sees shining in its eyes, even as she continues her struggle to make sense of it.

The answers used to be so much easier to find.

*~*~*~*

It's not nearly enough.

Reluctantly she breaks the kiss and pulls away, stepping back just out of his reach. Tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt, Laura sweeps the offending garment up and over her head with a flourish, inadvertently dislodging her headscarf in the process.

She doesn't care.

If Bill has any lingering doubts about the direction things have taken, he certainly doesn't show it. Instead his smoldering gaze locks onto hers as he deliberately mirrors her action, yanking off his tanks and tossing them over his shoulder before pulling her back into his arms and kissing her with renewed fervor. There's a hint of a challenge in the action – in the way his lips are moving insistently, seductively against hers, the way his fingers are lightly teasing her skin.

She accepts with no small degree of enthusiasm.

*~*~*~*

Laura is midway through grading a stack of mathematics tests when she feels an unexpected chilly gust of wind move through the otherwise quiet classroom. Instinctively her hand darts out to trap the tidy stack of marked pages against the desktop before they can be blown to the floor. "In or out," she orders sharply, too accustomed to this sort of intrusion to bother to sparing the culprit a glance.

"What?"

Laura looks up in surprise at the sound of his voice, and tries her best to hide her excitement as she takes in the sight of Bill standing silhouetted in the tent's entryway, his expression endearingly befuddled. "In or out please, Admiral," she repeats, softening the directive with a teasing smile, "you're letting all the cold air in."

She watches with poorly concealed amusement as understanding gradually dawns. With a bemused chuckle Bill steps inside and pulls the tent flap back into place with exaggerated, put-upon care. "You give your students this hard of a time?"

"I don't have to," she quips as she rises from her chair and sets her pen on the blotter, "my students know better."

The smile slowly fades from Bill's face as he picks his way through the clutter of tables and makeshift desks towards her. Something about the seriousness of his expression gives her pause; by the time he's reached her side her heart is pounding and it takes everything she has not to shy away from his touch as he places a gentle hand on her arm.

"How are you?"

The question is innocent enough, but she's unprepared for the tenderness she hears in his tone. With a sharp shake of her head she steps carefully out of his grasp and begins to pack the remainder of the ungraded papers into a well-worn leather satchel. "I'm fine," she replies tightly as she draws the bag's strap over her shoulder and turns to meet his disappointed gaze. "Walk with me?"

Bill regards her levelly before slowly – and to her immense relief – nodding his acquiescence. A moment later, she feels the press of his hand at the small of her back as together they make their way out of the school tent and onto the muddy thoroughfare.

"You had a meeting with Baltar?" she asks after the silence between them has stretched on for too long.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bill nod slowly. "He wants to begin bringing civilian ships down to the surface. For permanent grounding."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I wish I were."

"And what happens when the Cylons find us and we have to find a way to get those same ships safely off the ground at a moment's notice? It's a risk we can't afford to take."

"I don't disagree. But the settlement is sorely in need of resources, and having a sewage recycling ship like the _Demetrius_ or a cold storage vessel like the _Kimba Huta_ on the ground would certainly make life a hell of a lot easier for everyone down here. It's gonna be tough to convince Baltar that the risks outweigh the potential benefits."

"Then by all means," she snaps angrily, coming to an abrupt halt and wheeling around to face him, "let the _President_ do whatever the hell he wants. Seeing as he's so in tune with the will of the people."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Laura hates how shrewish she sounds, but she can't seem to help it. Even now, these many months later, she hasn't been able to completely silence the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her she made a mistake in allowing Bill to convince her to quietly concede her defeat. And to be standing here, listening to that very same man – someone she's come to rely on, trust, and dare she say it _need_ – defend Gaius frakking Baltar and his idiotic, short-sighted policies…

Aggravated as she is, it takes Laura several seconds to realize Bill has yet to say anything in response to her accusations. Glancing up at him, she is startled to find him standing much closer than she'd expected, watching her with an inscrutable expression. The intensity of his gaze is unnerving, but it is the empathy she sees shining in his eyes that is ultimately her undoing. She hates that he is able to do this to her – disarm her with nothing more than a look – but the tactic works nonetheless. As her anger ebbs, Laura begins to realize how unfairly she's been treating Bill these past few minutes – past few months, if she's completely honest with herself – and unconsciously she rolls her shoulders as if trying to shrug off her discomfort.

Regardless of the role Bill may have played, the decision to give up the Presidency and move planetside had ultimately been hers. At least _she_ has the option of turning a blind eye to Baltar and his disaster of an administration – however incapable she may be of doing so. Laura can only imagine how Bill must feel, still trapped by the obligation of his oath and his command.

She takes a small step back and offers a weak, conciliatory smile. "Will I see you at the groundbreaking ceremony next month?"

"Baltar's declared it a fleet-wide holiday," he replies with a shrug, seemingly unfazed by the sudden change in topic. "Where else would I be?"

Laura feels her smile widen at the pleasant – albeit ironic – memory his words evoke of another state-sponsored celebration that took place what now feels like a lifetime ago.

"So you'll save me a dance then, Admiral?"

His face registers surprise even as he nods his assent.

"Good. I'm looking forward to it," she replies, and is surprised to realize that, for the first time since landing on this gods-forsaken hunk of rock, she actually means it.

*~*~*~*

Distracted as she is by the heated caress of Bill's lips and tongue, it takes her some time to notice the friction of his thigh once again pressing insistently against hers. Obediently she takes another faltering step backward – and is surprised to feel the cold metal frame of the rack against the backs of her knees. How they got here is something of a mystery – her body and mind have been otherwise – and _very_ pleasantly – occupied for some time now, but that doesn't mean she won't take full advantage of the situation in which she's found herself.

Smiling against his lips, she skims her hands down along Bill's flank, relishing the feel of his body's involuntary shudder in response to her touch; then snakes her fingers through the belt loops of his pants and tugs – hard.

Laura revels in the sound of his surprised grunt as together they fall back onto the mattress.

*~*~*~*

"Admiral."

"Mad— Ms. Roslin. It's good to hear your voice."

The events of the past few hours have left her reeling and exhausted, and the at once achingly familiar and utterly foreign sound of Bill's voice carrying over the comm is almost more than she can bear. Until this moment she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed him.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Laura replies in as strong a voice as she can muster, "Yours too, Bill. How are you?"

" _Galactica_ 's a little worse for wear," he hedges and she can't help but grin in response; she'd forgotten how delightfully infuriating he could be. "Not to mention crowded," he adds a moment later in a tone that makes it clear he sees the situation as anything but a burden.

"Do you have a head-count yet?"

She can practically hear Bill's responding smile. "Ships are beginning to report in now. We should have a rough estimate in the next few hours."

"Once you have it, I'm sure Tom will want to sit down with you to begin laying out plans for population and supply redistribution." He mutters something unintelligible in response, but the palpable distaste in his tone comes across clearly enough. "Like it or not Bill, Tom Zarek is the President of the Twelve Colonies."

"By default."

"No, by popular vote and stipulation of Article Five, Section Three of the Articles of Colonization, which is more than I can say about _my_ tenure as President."

" _You_ are not a convicted terrorist."

His words send an uncomfortable chill down the length of her spine, while abruptly calling to mind the vivid image of a young pilot whose name she never knew, standing in the crowded marketplace with explosives strapped to his chest and a red-button plunger clutched in his trembling hand. She'd never known who any of them were going to be, of course – those decisions had been left up to Colonel Tigh and the others. But that hadn't stopped her from imagining them as she lay sleepless in her cot at night, or from selfishly praying for absolution for the atrocities she'd had no choice but to condone.

While Bill might still be able to take stock in the importance of distinctions such as 'terrorist' and 'revolutionary' or 'convicted' and 'unindicted', it's been months since she has been able to do the same.

"Laura? You okay?"

The naked concern in his voice is enough to bring her back to herself and she blinks several times in an attempt to clear away the last vestiges of the unwelcome memories. "Fine. Tired. It's been a long day." She takes a deep breath before adding firmly, "Bill, regardless of Tom Zarek's past, you're going to have to find a way to work with him. At least until a new Quorum can be assembled and sworn in."

"Do I want to know what happens then?"

"Tom's asked to meet with me the day after tomorrow."

She waits patiently for Bill to put the pieces together, and can't help but smile when he eventually replies, his tone simultaneously disbelieving and hopeful. "You think he's going to willingly give up the Presidency?"

"I think that for all his ambition Tom Zarek is a realist, and you've always made your opinion of both him and his politics very clear."

From the protracted silence on the other end of the line, it's clear to Laura that Bill is taking his time to consider the implications of her words – and she in turn takes the opportunity to savor the resulting quiet and the familiar, soothing rasp of his breathing in her ear. There were so many small things she'd come to miss during her time on New Caprica – many of them sights, smells, sounds of which she'd never been fully cognizant in the first place. It was only when she was forced to do without that Laura had understood how used to them she'd become.

But now, surrounded by the sensory cues that had once been a constant part of her daily existence, she feels strangely out of place; the experience of once again being amongst the stars onboard _Colonial One_ still has the hazy quality of a dream to her. She and the others had spent so long planning, hoping and praying for their escape from that miserable planet, but Laura had never once allowed herself to consider the possibility they'd be successful – or what life would be like afterward.

 _A mistake_ , Laura admits belatedly as she begins to understand just how much New Caprica has changed things – changed _her_. And though it will in no way influence her decision to accept what she expects Tom Zarek will offer her, Laura can't help but wonder what that will mean as she resumes the Presidency and the heavy mantle of responsibility and expectation it carries with it.

"It's good to have you back, Laura," Bill says finally, sounding relieved.

If only she could be as certain.

*~*~*~*

"Laura, look at me."

Slowly, Laura opens her eyes and is caught off guard by the emotion she sees in Bill's as he looks down at her. She is suddenly, painfully aware of herself – the thinness of her naked body pressed against his, her emotions hovering treacherously close to the surface and myriad sins lying heavy and unconfessed on the tip of her tongue – but the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible for her to turn away.

His hand comes up to cup her cheek and instinctively she leans into the touch; and is startled when she feels the pad of his thumb brush across the corner of her eye, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake.

"I love you," he murmurs before leaning in and kissing her softly.

His touch feels like a benediction.

*~*~*~*

Despite her annoyance, Laura can't help the thrill of excitement that courses through her as she digests this new piece information and allows herself to speculate on what it might mean. "That beacon…was a signpost to Earth."

"I think we're on the right trail, Laura."

"Yes, we are on the right trail, Bill," she confirms before locking eyes with him and adding pointedly, "And so are the Cylons."

Predictably, he drops his gaze to study the dwindling contents of his glass, an action that only serves to increase her frustration. But before she has a chance to formulate a suitable reply, she notices him surreptitiously watching her out of the corner of his eye. "What?" she asks, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"There's something else I think you should know. Baltar is on board one of the Cylon Baseships."

Laura is up and out of her chair before she realizes it. "Why wasn't I told about this sooner?" she asks sharply, beginning to pace the length of the carpet in an attempt to keep her emotions under control.

Bill regards her silently for a moment before continuing. "I specifically asked Lee to exclude the information from his briefing. I felt it wasn't directly relevant to the matter at hand."

"Not relevant?" Crossing her arms, she comes to a stop and turns to look down on him where he sits, looking infuriatingly unaffected. "Baltar is on that ship, evidently telling the Cylons everything he knows about our map to Earth and you thought that information wasn't important enough to warrant even a mention?"

"No. I didn't."

"Bullshit."

"What?"

Under different circumstances, she might have found his shocked expression amusing. Instead it only serves to fuel her indignation. "I can't have your personal biases and feelings putting this fleet at risk, Admiral."

Almost immediately Bill's features harden and his eyes snap up to fix upon hers with a simmering hostility usually reserved for Cylons and personal betrayers. "And what about yours, Madame President?"

Unable to endure his unrelenting scrutiny, she turns away and makes her way resolutely toward the hatch. "This conversation is over."

"Laura," she hears him call after her, but she refuses to stop. Doing so would only encourage him, and she has no intention of allowing this discussion to continue. Bill, it seems, has other ideas because a moment later she feels the insistent press of his hand on her shoulder—

– and then she's wrenching herself from his grip with enough force to knock her momentarily off balance. It takes her just a couple of seconds to recover her equilibrium, and when she does, she looks up to find Bill watching her, his face frozen in shock.

The erratic pounding of her heart is barely audible over the buzzing in her ears; she feels suddenly light-headed and reaches out to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady herself as they continue to stare at one another. After what feels to her like hours, Bill breaks the uneasy silence between them. "What _happened_ to you down there?"

The sound of his voice, low and tinged with dread, breaks something inside her, bringing tears to her eyes that she stubbornly refuses to let fall. There's a part of her that hates him for his presumption and for the innocent ease with which he's able to ask about so painful a subject. But she's also paradoxically grateful for his concern. He wants so much to help her, and there's a small part of her that wants to let him; but the memories are still too close, her emotions too raw and if she gives in to him now she may never be able to regain control.

Biting her lip, Laura casts her gaze anxiously about the room as if searching its recesses for the strength and the words she needs to help him understand. As she continues to struggle, her eyes alight on her briefcase, resting against the leg of the table.

She can feel Bill's eyes following her every movement as she crosses the room, crouches down and begins rummaging through the contents of the case. It takes her less than a minute to find what she's looking for and with a quick sigh of relief she pulls a collection of ragged looking notebooks from the bag's depths and rises to her feet.

Laura takes a moment to skim the scrawl-covered top page, running her fingertips reverently over its dimpled surface before lifting her gaze and offering Bill the stack. Wordlessly he takes it, though it's clear from his expression he has no idea what it is she trying to tell him.

"I made sure there'd be people alive to remember," she breathes, holding his gaze a moment longer before turning away.

*~*~*~*

Biting back a moan, Laura arches into Bill's touch as his fingers painstakingly stroke the planes and contours of her body as if touching her for the first time. In some ways, it _feels_ like the first time – new, intoxicating, exhilarating.

Her exploration of him is no less thorough; she revels in the feeling of his nipple hardening against her palm, the tensing of his abdominal muscles as her hand drifts lower in a teasing caress.

Her fingers skim over the bare skin of his hip a moment before she takes hold and pulls him more fully against her, hooking a leg around his waist so there's no mistaking the urgency of her desire.

Bill leans in to nip at her earlobe as he flexes his hips into hers, following her lead without hesitation.

*~*~*~*

It's not until Bill stops mid-sentence and lowers the fuel ration report they'd been reviewing that Laura realizes she been caught staring. "I assure you Madame President, I look worse than I feel."

She refuses to let her discomfiture show; instead, she deliberately studies the mottled red and purple contusions lining the right side of his face before bringing her gaze to meet his. "I was there last night, remember?" Bill doesn't reply, but there's an imperceptible shift in his expression that lets her know she's unwittingly crossed a line.

The trouble is, these days she isn't exactly sure where exactly that line is and it's a realization that by turns both fascinates and frustrates her. She doesn't like feeling off-balance – particularly when Bill Adama is the cause. And yet there is something deliciously intriguing about this subtle dance they are performing, in the idea of letting go and just this once allowing him to take the lead.

Of course, that doesn't mean she isn't ready and willing to steal it back from him when necessary, which is why she feels no compunction whatsoever in continuing to press him in spite of his obviously growing irritation. "What did Cottle say?"

"Before or after he berated me for getting into the ring in the first place?" he replies sullenly.

"I know you don't want to hear this Bill, but he may have had a point. The last thing this fleet needs right now is to have its Admiral out of commission because of something as inconsequential as a boxing match."

"The fleet," he insists pointedly as he rises from his chair with obvious discomfort, "has nothing to be concerned about. The rest of this report can wait until tomorrow," he adds decisively, tossing the folder onto her desk for emphasis before turning to leave.

"Maybe," she concedes as she circles her desk and puts a restraining hand on his arm. "But this conversation cannot."

Eventually she feels the muscles under her fingers relax; he still refuses to face her, but Laura can tell by the defeated slump of his shoulders that he's no longer set on running away. "I've had worse, Laura," he replies evenly.

Releasing her hold on his arm, she steps back to lean against the edge of her desk. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't."

The admission is more truth than she's given him in a very long time, and the unexpected disclosure leaves her feeling awkward and exposed in a way she hadn't intended. Studying the nap of the carpet beneath her shoes, she shifts her weight self-consciously from one foot to the other as she waits for his response – and is surprised when, a moment later, she feels Bill settle himself beside her.

"Saul would have stopped the fight if things had gotten out of hand."

"Things were out of hand the minute you stepped into that ring." Cautiously, she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "Couldn't you have just foregone the fight and given them a speech instead?"

Bill chuckles softly in response, and she can't help but breathe an audible sigh of relief. It's a testament to how far they've come that he's able to accept her criticism with humor as opposed to the resentment that had been such a hallmark of the earlier days of their working relationship.

Then again, their relationship had ceased being something as simple as a professional partnership a long time ago – a fact underscored by last night's events and her tumultuous emotions as she stood with _Galactica_ 's crew watching their Admiral willingly take hit after hit. To the others his actions and words were intended only to prove a point, but Laura knows better – knows _him_ – and it was clear to her that Bill's bout with Chief Tyrol had been as much about self-flagellation as it had been about reminding his men of their duty to their ship and the fleet.

"What happened on New Caprica wasn't your fault," she says, even though she knows all too well it isn't going to be enough to sway his opinion on the matter. As she studies his profile, waiting for his reaction she wonders idly if anything ever will.

Eventually he turns to her, his eyes at once serious and sad. "It wasn't yours, either," he replies, and upon hearing the poorly concealed irony behind his words Laura can't help but smile grimly in return. No, neither of them will be convinced of their innocence anytime soon. But deserving or not, perhaps if they can find a way to carry the burden together, the pain of it won't be quite so acute.

With a sigh, she reaches down to retrieve the discarded report they'd been reviewing earlier. "Can we finish the rest of this tomorrow?" she asks, handing it to him with a smile.

"Of course." Carefully, Bill pushes himself off the edge of her desk and takes the folder from her. "I'm due in CIC at oh-nine hundred; do you mind if we do this on _Galactica_ over breakfast?"

The overture is unexpected – especially with the memory of last night's raspy, blood-stained speech still fresh in her mind – but not wholly unwelcome. Another step in the dance, and perhaps she's not as averse to the back and forth through which he's leading them as she'd initially thought. "Not at all."

"Eight o' clock okay?"

"I'll see you then."

Bill is almost to the door before he stops and turns to her with an inscrutable expression. "You were right about one thing, Laura." She regards him curiously, not sure what to make of the apparent non-sequitur he's thrown at her. Bill's lips curl into a sly smile. "The left hook would have definitely done him in."

*~*~*~*

After what feels like hours and no time at all, they begin to move and Laura quickly loses herself in the familiar rhythm of their bodies moving together.

This; this is what she's wanted, what she's been searching for these past days and weeks. Not absolution, nor a solution; these things won't take away the pain or the emptiness. But here, with Bill, now she's finally found exactly what she's needed all along: understanding, love, refuge.

Escape.

*~*~*~* 

Suppressing a shiver, Laura reaches behind her in a vain effort to pull closed the frayed edges of the hospital gown she'd been forced to don upon her arrival in _Galactica_ 's sickbay. "I told them not to call you."

Bill's hardened expression doesn't falter. "Corporals Varrick and Danelli are officers under _my_ command."

She could swear she catches Doctor Cottle rolling his eyes and she can't say she blames him; Bill's retort is transparent at best and it's taking everything she has not to mirror the doctor's gesture. But when Cottle's razor-sharp gaze focuses unerringly on her a moment later, Laura realizes belatedly – and with no small degree of indignation – that the gesture had not been meant for Bill alone.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Cottle shifts his attention pointedly between her and Bill. "Frakking obstinate fools, the both of you," she hears him mutter as he turns and leaves, yanking the privacy curtain back into place with a flourish.

Bill shows no sign of having heard the physician's acerbic remark; instead he makes his way over to the exam table, stepping close enough for her to feel the prickly brush of his uniform jacket against her exposed kneecaps. Consciously she knows he's only trying to help, but in the wake of today's miserable succession of humiliating public displays – culminating in her being all but carried through _Galactica_ 's busy corridors by a pair of panicked Marines – Bill's sudden proximity only serves to make matters worse. This overbearing concern of his is something she's been dealing with for weeks now – ever since she informed him of the recurrence of her cancer. And while she might be able to understand the sentiment, that doesn't mean she's willing – or prepared – to tolerate it.

Laura scoots herself back on the exam table in a deliberate attempt to put as much space between them as she can, but the distance does little to ease her discomfiture. She can still feel his reproachful gaze on her like a physical weight, growing steadily heavier as the silence between them continues to drag on.

"Why?" he eventually asks her, and though his voice is gentle she can tell by the rigid set of his jaw just how much effort it is taking him to hold his emotions in check.

Laura raises her unflinching gaze to meet his; when she speaks she doesn't bother to hide her irritation. "The Six in your brig says there are five unidentified Cylons somewhere in this fleet. The Cylons we _do_ know about very well may get to Earth before we do. And I'm _still_ trying to clean up the mess you made by sending Kara off in the _Demetrius_. Right now my health is the absolute least of my concerns."

He is silent for several beats, but the wounded expression darkening his features speaks volumes. "How can you _say_ that?"

Laura immediately feels guilty for the upset she is clearly causing him. But by the same turn the realization that she still has the power to do this – to make _someone_ experience even a fraction of the pain and confusion she is feeling – is satisfying in a way she's not all that eager to dwell on.

"What else would you like me to say?" she replies with an exasperated sigh.

Laura can practically hear the wheels turning in Bill's head as he pauses to regroup and determine his next plan of attack. "You want to tell me what happened?" he finally asks, and despite the overly-casual nature of the question, the manner in which it is delivered makes it clear Bill is expecting – no, demanding – an answer from her.

After all this time, he really should – and, does, she suspects – know better than to try to order her to do anything. And though Laura knows she's being childish, his half-hearted attempt to goad her into talking only makes her that much more determined not to give in. "Not really, no."

He is silent for several moments; and when he does finally speak, his voice is low and tinged with something she's rarely heard from him before: fear. "They found you lying unconscious on the floor of your quarters, Laura."

As she takes in the sight of him standing before her, looking both shaken and wholly convinced of his own powerlessness, she feels suddenly, overwhelmingly tired –of fighting, of lying, of dying – and so reluctantly she gives in to the inevitable.

"Yes, they did," she replies levelly as she reaches out to hook a finger under the cuff of his uniform jacket and draws him closer so that she can slip her hand into his. "But I'm fine, Bill. Really."

"You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I'm the President of the Colonies, Bill. I have responsibilities that can't be ignored – especially now."

Cautiously, Bill moves forward, his eyes on hers as he gauges her reaction. She offers him a weak smile but this time doesn't shy away from the contact; instead she can feel herself beginning to relax as the warmth of him slowly seeps into her chilled skin. "You have a responsibility to yourself," he insists as he gingerly takes her other hand in his. "You're not alone this time, Laura. Let me help you."

Looking into Bill's eyes, Laura knows without a doubt what it is she _wants_ to do. The trouble is, she's not sure if she should – or more importantly, if she _can_.

*~*~*~*

Laura can feel the heat building low in her belly but as much as she wants this to last, she is hungrier still for the oblivion of release. She urges Bill to move faster, knowing she's being selfish but not caring as she runs her hands over his back, her nails scraping against his skin. Placing a wet kiss to her temple, he increases the tempo and power of his thrusts, readily giving in to her wordless demand.

And suddenly there is no more darkness, no more despair; there is only this. The feeling of him moving inside her, his body covering hers – shielding her as she shatters into a million shining pieces

Laura doesn't think for a while after that.

*~*~*~*

 _These sleeves are entirely too long._

It's an idle, silly thought given the circumstances, but overwhelmed as she is right now by the incredible, exquisite truth – Earth, here, spinning languorously below them – her mind simply isn't capable of much else. With an impatient sigh, Laura pulls at the lapel of the bulky borrowed field jacket in an attempt to settle it more securely on her delicate frame and wonders absently how it is she's never noticed just how burly Bill is in comparison to herself.

As if on cue, the sound of running water ceases and Bill, already dressed in his field fatigues, steps out of the head while drying his hands with a well-worn towel. He arches an eyebrow and grins at the sight of her. "If you're not careful that thing's gonna swallow you whole."

Laura scowls at him in response, an action that, to her consternation, only serves to increase his obvious amusement. "I'll be fine. How long until we're ready to go?"

Belatedly he seems to sense her annoyance; crossing the room he reaches out to run his hand soothingly along the length of her arm. "Earth's not going anywhere, Laura."

"I know that," she retorts, even as she tries to tamp down the niggling sense of apprehension that's been building little by little since they left CIC almost an hour ago. Long years of hardship and frustration have taught her to be cautious and take nothing – even something as seemingly undeniable as this – at face value. Until she's standing on the surface, with Earth's wind in her hair and its sun in her eyes, she refuses to permit herself the luxury of believing any of this is truly real. The Dying Leader was never meant to see Earth, after all; and if Pythia has been right about everything else, why not this last condition as well?

Bill, on the other hand, is the most composed she's seen him in days. And while she knows she shouldn't fault him for it, Laura can't help but envy the certainty she hears in his voice – that should also be in hers. "How can you be so frakking calm about this?"

Before Bill has a chance to answer, there's a sharp knock at the hatch. "Enter!" he calls before turning to her with a playful grin that makes him look for all the worlds like an overeager schoolboy. "Just a routine recon mission, Madame President," he replies with a wry smile as she hears the hatch open behind her.

"Admiral?"

As quickly as it had come Bill's lighthearted expression vanishes and his usual, stoic façade is once again in place. Doing her best to hide her exasperation, Laura follows Bill into the next room where Captain Agathon is already waiting for them.

"Anything new to report?" Bill asks as he retrieves his glasses from the nearby table and slips them on.

"No, sir. Still no response to comm hails and no contacts on DRADIS. Mister Hoshi believes there may be some sort of atmospheric interference affecting our sensor readings."

"What sort of interference?" Laura asks sharply, eyes darting anxiously between the two men.

"Hard to say, exactly; but the atmosphere is definitely breathable."

"All the more reason to get down there and take a look around," Bill says, after casting a quick, concerned glance in Laura's direction.

"Raptors should be prepped and ready in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Captain. We'll see you on the Hangar Deck."

"Yes, sir," the younger man replies with an enthusiastic smile before turning and heading for the hatch.

"And Helo?" Bill calls after him a beat later, drawing Captain Agathon's curious gaze as well as Laura's own. "Pass the word around. I want everyone to have sidearms at the ready. Just in case our newfound friends happen to lose interest in this treaty once we reach the surface."

Helo's smile falters slightly as he nods his assent and turns to leave. As soon as the hatch is secured and they are once again alone Bill turns to her, his expression questioning. "Laura? You okay?"

"We're really here," she breathes, the words half-question, half-affirmation.

"We're really here," he confirms, reaching out to take gentle hold of her arms. "Thanks to you."

Looking into his eyes, she sees so much there – pride, gratitude, love – and finds herself struggling to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. Seemingly oblivious to her internal struggle, Bill steps back and offers her his arm with a smile. "Let's go take a look at our new home, Madame President."

Nodding dumbly, Laura threads her arm through his and allows him to guide her out of his quarters and through _Galactica's_ teeming corridors. As they walk it occurs to her that it's been years since she's seen anything quite like this; everything from the excited expressions of the people they pass, to the carefree sounds of their voices and laughter – the very walls of _Galactica_ herself – seem somehow brighter. Her earlier words, intended to break Bill from his paralyzing crisis of faith, come back to her in a rush and she can't help but smile at the irony. This, right here, is what _she's_ given up so much to achieve. And while she still isn't wholly convinced she deserves any of it – Earth included – her _people_ certainly do. Perhaps Pythia was wrong; and the suffering of the souls she's shepherded has been sacrifice enough to appease the gods.

"We're here," she murmurs deliberately, testing the feel of the words against her tongue as the two of them continue to make their way through the ship. She repeats the phrase to herself again and again, her voice growing stronger and more confident with each repetition until she's succeeded in pushing the last of her doubts aside.

*~*~*~*

"Do you care?"

"Hm-mm."

"Neither do I."

Something in Bill's tone makes it clear he truly believes what he's said; and the realization – rather than bringing Laura a sense of relief or triumph – only makes the grim reality they face that much more real. Lying here, sated and secure in one another's arms, the decision to turn a blind eye seems all too easy. But come tomorrow, Laura knows it won't be nearly so simple a choice.

Bill may not care tonight, but he _will_ care tomorrow. And though Laura will try her best to deny it, so will she. Her responsibility to her people and duty to see this through to the end has become – much like Bill himself – too much a part of herself to simply put aside or ignore.

But she's also grown increasingly tired of feeling as if she has to steal time that by rights is hers to begin with – especially now, when she has so little of it left. And though the bitter reality of Earth has left her feeling shaken and uncertain, the planet's discovery did help to clarify for her one single, undeniable truth: deserving or not, Laura wants to _live_ – here, now – as much and as fully as she can in whatever time she has left.

Life doesn't simply carry on. It's a challenge each survivor has faced time and again since the end of the worlds; to find purpose and meaning – _hope_ – amongst the ashes.

Something to live for.

Laura had found those things once before – or perhaps it's more accurate to say that _they_ found _her_ – and she likes to think that they've served one another well over the years. But the reality of Earth has changed everything irrevocably for her, and she feels as if it's been a constant struggle ever since to pick up and keep hold of the shattered pieces of her heart.

From the beginning, she'd been living for the sake of her people; but somewhere along the way she'd begun living for other things as well: a thousand years old prophecy, a mythical planet they could call home. It wasn't until she'd lost the latter things completely that Laura had begun to appreciate just how much they had truly mattered to her. And what she's realized these past few months is that unless she finds a way to fill it, the void their absence has left inside her will consume her more quickly than her cancer ever could.

Her people are still here, adrift and aching as much as she is, and Laura is determined to find some way to do whatever she can to help them for as long as she's able. She owes it to them, to those they've left behind, to those she has to believe will come after; but most importantly she owes it to herself.

The revelations of the past few days have left her with little to believe in – herself included – and though Laura knows she should be doing more to help allay the grief and fear that is running rampant throughout the fleet, she can't seem to muster the courage to do so. But if these years have taught her anything, it is that strength and solace can be found in the most unlikely of places, that in the blink of an eye weakness can become strength and a legend can become truth. One simply has to be willing to accept the risk and open oneself up to the possibilities.

She's not ready yet – not when it's still all she can to do keep _herself_ from tumbling over the edge into the abyss. But perhaps she's finally found a place from which she can draw new strength to help her face the emptiness that lies ahead.

And with that final thought Laura eases back into the warm comfort of Bill's arms and allows the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back lull her to sleep.

*~*~*~*


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today the sun will set in the West, and I will raise a voice to the canyon. As the campfire dies, my América lies awake, and dreaming of home. She is awake, and dreaming of home.

**Epilogue**

 

 _Old Man._

It was an epithet precipitously bestowed upon him by members of his crew only days after his taking command. He never bothered to dissuade them, largely because at the time that's just what he'd believed himself to be; a washed up Commander worn down by life, mechanically following the familiar rhythms of shipboard life while he waited resignedly for the end to arrive.

And then, on the day he'd been meant to walk away from the one thing he still had that mattered to him the worlds had ended, giving him a chance to make things right and prove that there was still life and fight in the Old Man yet.

Of course, he hadn't recognized the gift that unthinkable tragedy had afforded him right away. It had taken Laura all but daring him to deny the grim reality staring him stark in the face to make him look beyond what he'd assumed to be a foregone and ultimately fatal conclusion, and acknowledge the precious chance they'd been given.

She's never let him see the world in quite the same way since, and though he knows he's still far from perfect, Bill likes to think he's a better man because of it. And maybe that's part of the reason he hasn't thought of himself, or truly _felt_ the part of the Old Man in a very long time.

Tonight though; tonight as Bill makes his way through _Galactica_ 's dim and dingy corridors, he feels every one of his seventy-three years right down to his very bones. The weariness of age, the pressing weight of inevitability rests more heavily on his shoulders with each passing day, making it that much harder for him to look past all the mistakes he's made and recognize the good that he's done.

These days the pitiful truth of it is that the time spent in CIC – the place he once considered to be his favorite in all of the ship – are amongst the most miserable hours of his life. From the moment Bill arrives, the wary, spiritless eyes of his crew follow his every step as he moves about the console, forcing himself once more to go through the motions of command. With no enemy to fight and no clear destination to reach, his thoughts inevitably begin to wander. And as the empty hours pass the self-doubt and recrimination gradually take hold; and Bill finds himself wondering if perhaps Gaeta had been right, that they all – the fleet, his crew, his family – might have been better off with someone else in command.

But there _is_ no one else – especially now – and so he carries on with his duties, taking care not to allow his gaze to wander too close to the tactical station where Mister Hoshi now sits unless absolutely necessary. And at the end of each shift, once the watch has been handed over he leaves quietly and with his head bowed, both grateful for and embarrassed by the relief he feels as he steps through the hatch and makes his way back to his quarters – and to her.

They've come such a long way since those first contentious days following the attacks; even now he sometimes marvels at the irony in how things have turned out. The rest of the time, he is simply, incredibly grateful. He's all too aware of what a lucky bastard he is, having come away from the attacks with so much of his old life intact. And to have gained as much as he has in the years following; it's an abundance of riches for which he knows himself to be wholly undeserving and without which he's equally certain he never would have survived. Against all reason, Laura has proved to be the most precious of all of these gifts, the one he's come to rely on most heavily as their prospects grow ever bleaker. Returning home to her each night, it is the open acceptance he sees in her usually circumspect features and the unwavering trust shining in her eyes that gives him the strength to keep going, to pull himself from his rack each morning and do it all again.

To this day, Bill still can't quite figure out what it is Laura sees in him, a stubborn, broken old man with nothing more than a better-than-average book collection and a crumbling Battlestar to his name. For all his faults, scars, and eccentricities, she loves him and though he's far from convinced he deserves the faith and affection she's bestowed upon him, he clings to it nonetheless. He's not ready to let go of her yet; the realization is far from new but as he carefully sits beside her on the edge of his rack and looks on her as she sleeps the words ring in his ears with a clarity that stings. So much has been taken from him – from them all – these past few months and now for Laura to be taken away as well; it's too much.

But over these past few weeks Laura's made it more than clear that she _is_ ready, and it's been a long time since Bill has been able to deny her much of anything. And so when the time comes – and as he watches her eyes flutter open to meet his with a muted smile and weakly-voiced question about the time he acknowledges that it won't be long now – he'll put on a brave face and let her go, and spend the rest of his days doing his best to find some way to live without her. Not because he necessarily wants to, but because after everything Laura has given him, it's the only way he can think to even begin to repay her.

It's a truth Laura first helped him to realize here, what feels like a lifetime ago, thanks to nothing more than a secret shared and sealed with a handshake and a smile.

 

*fin.*


End file.
